


Te Amo y Más

by mustachio



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, M/M, Multi, Not So Slow Build, Polyamory, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustachio/pseuds/mustachio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joaquín just needs to know that he can still be a hero now that he isn't invincible. Manolo and María need him to know that sometimes being a hero just means being with the people who need you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Love You, Brother

Joaquín tries to leave without a word three times. He never makes it farther than the tree in front of the city’s gates and only once has he even made it that far.

The first time he barely makes it onto the bridge.

It’s dark when he leaves the Sanchez house. He’d been staying there the past two days while he helped move María’s things into her new home with her new husband. He can’t help the feeling that he’s far too comfortable in a home that isn’t his and that he plans on leaving soon. María and Manolo are asleep when Joaquín leaves; most of the town is fast asleep, completely unaware of what’s going on outside of their dreams. It’s the first time he’s tried to leave without fanfare, without a word. Certainly it’s the first time he’s left without saying goodbye to Manolo.

He feels guilty about it, especially now that María is here, but he doesn’t want to be stopped. He wants to go after the last of Chakal’s army, wants to go on with his life the way it was before all of this. 

He rides through the town slowly, not daring to urge Plata to a full blown gallop for fear of what it would do to aggravate the sharp twinges of pain in his muscles and the throbbing in his wounded eye. He scratches at the area just next to the patch. He knows he shouldn’t be trying to leave now. The Day of the Dead was only two days ago, his wounds have only just begun to heal, and he hasn’t adjusted to losing half of his vision yet, but he’s antsy. He can’t just sit around and do nothing while he waits for the pain to stop. He’s gone almost his entire life never having to give himself a healing period; at this point he can’t bring himself to start.

By the time Joaquín makes it to the bridge he’s exhausted. He could fall to the floor and sleep there for days. He looks out across the bridge. It looks longer than usual. He can’t see the tree he knows is standing at the other end of it.

He pulls at the reins to signal to Plata that it’s time to turn around. _I’ll leave tomorrow_ , Joaquín promises himself. He just needs to get a good night’s sleep for now. Tomorrow he’ll feel better, he’s sure of it. 

The second time Joaquín tries to leave is a week later. His wounds are feeling better now and the most pain he feels is a dull throb in his eye. He isn’t entirely sure that will ever go away. It’s late at night again. This time he hesitates before he leaves the house. He looks back towards Manolo and María’s room and considers waking them up to say goodbye. 

The longer he stays, the harder it gets to leave without a word to them at least.

He turns the doorknob and tries to close the door behind him as quietly as possible. Even if they don’t try to stop him, Joaquín isn’t sure he’ll be able to make himself leave if he speaks to them first. 

But too many of Chakal’s bandits escaped and others besides them are still on the loose. He has to stop them. He has to prove he can still be a hero even if he does feel physical pain now.

He coaxes Plata into a slow trot, the need to be so cautious gone now. When he reaches the bridge he feels no crushing exhaustion, no nagging feeling that going any farther will pose a serious hazard to his health. He wants to go back; of course he does. Leaving San Angel means leaving his best friends—his family. Separating himself from Manolo alone used to be hard enough when he first began leaving to help out other towns, leaving both him and María may be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Joaquín shakes those thoughts out of his head. He continues on forward.

There’s a layer of fog over the area that tinges the world a slight gray color. It makes it look like rain might be coming or something more sinister. His heart pounds in his chest, a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him that leaving tonight might be a mistake. Still, Joaquín pushes forward. He takes one hand from the reins to secure his sombrero on his head. He wears it like a helmet. It’s the only sort of helmet he’s ever needed. Now, it occurs to him, it will be a flimsy form of protection. He’ll have to procure more appropriate supplies when he gets to the next town. For now, he’ll just be glad for the soft cloth of María’s bonnet inside rubbing against his hair and comforting him maybe more than it should.

The sound of Plata’s hooves clacking against the wood of the bridge is comforting in a way. Without them the night would be too silent, too lonely. 

He looks back at the town. He can just barely make out a cat jumping out from its chosen scavenging spot, a large chunk of bread in its mouth. It’s the only sign of life in the city that he can see.

When he turns around Joaquín feels his heart drop down into this stomach. He jerks the reins back to tell Plata to stop and nearly falls off his movement is so rough. He steadies himself quickly, looking back out in front of him, but no longer sees the source of his panic. He rubs at his eye, lets his head rest in the palm of his hand for a moment before looking back up.

“Nothing there.”

Joaquín frowns at the empty air in front of him. He could have sworn Manolo had just been there. Manolo had been walking towards him holding—holding María in his arms, her body limp and cold and colorless. Manolo had hardly looked better.

But no; neither Manolo nor María are here with him now. Both of them are fast asleep in their beds, happy and warm. He knows that. He peeked in on them before he left. He left a note for them on their bedside table thanking them for allowing him to spend so much time in their home and apologizing for imposing on them so much so early in their marriage.

He hadn’t told them where he was going in the note, preferring to let them think he only went back to his own home or to Casa Posada where he resided more often than not during his visits home.

It’s just a bad memory sneaking up on him in the dark, that’s all. No reason for him to be so spooked. He can still go on.

_I can still go on._

Joaquín glares at the nothingness before him. He turns Plata around and when he gets back to the Sanchez house, sneaks quietly into the room where Manolo and María are still sleeping and rips up his note.

Manolo’s childhood room has been converted into a guest room, but the bed and sheets are still the same. When he settles into the blankets, Joaquín buries his nose into the pillow and thanks every deity he can think of that they still smell like his friend.

The third attempt takes place in broad daylight. 

Joaquín is tired of trying to sneak away so he packs his things when Manolo and María are out of the house helping at the orphanage, making his escape as quickly as possible so as not to run into them if they were to come back early. It’s only the day after his last attempt at leaving. Most of his things are still right where he wants them to be so it isn’t hard to make a swift exit.

When he gets to the bridge it’s a full speed gallop until they reach the end of it. Its broad daylight and the chances of running into any phantoms from almost-tragedies past now are slim, but he won’t risk it. He’ll pass them before he can ever see them. 

And then they come to an abrupt stop and Joaquín is nearly thrown to the ground from the force of it.

What were once the main gates of San Angel are now a pile of rubble blocking the way off of the bridge. The giant tree that had been here now stands at half of its former height, apparently another victim to Chakal’s destruction. There’s no easy way around it; not when the bridge is as narrow as it is and the pile so high. He’d have to climb over it and carry all of his bags with him before Plata could ever have a chance at jumping over it.

He rests his hand against one of the fallen pieces in the same moment a familiar voice calls out his name.

“Joaquín!”

Joaquín cranes his neck to the side, stops when Manolo doesn’t come into view, then turns around completely so that when Manolo doesn’t manage to stop running in time, they collide chest to chest rather than chest to back. Joaquín puts his hands on Manolo’s shoulders to steady them both and waits for him to catch his breath before asking:

“Manny? I thought you were helping out at the orphanage with María. Did something happen?” Joaquín lets his hands slide down from Manolo’s shoulders to hang down at his sides. He spares a glance over Manolo’s shoulders to look at the town. Nothing seems to be wrong from here.

Manolo shakes his head.

“No, nothing is wrong. The baker told me he saw you going this way. He said it looked like you were leaving.” His gaze slides to Plata, still carrying all of Joaquín’s usual long term trip supplies. 

There’s a look in his eyes that Joaquín can’t place, but that makes his stomach twist in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

“I wasn’t leaving. I was just…” Joaquín trails off. He shrugs a little helplessly. “Coming to fix the gate over here? Since everyone is busy inside the city.”

Now Manolo looks behind him at the broken gates blocking the path out of San Angel. He frowns at them. He looks back at Joaquín, still frowning, and glances once more at Plata. His gaze is skeptical when it slides back to Joaquín.

“I don’t think you need to camp out to fix the gates.” The sun glints off of Manolo’s wedding band when he motions towards Joaquín’s gear. His eyes follow the motion of Manolo’s hand and do not focus on the ring for any longer than necessary. “Come on, amigo. We’ll rebuild this tomorrow. For now we’ll work in the town.”

Manolo rests his hand on Joaquín’s arm. It’s a warm, comforting weight even through the fabric of his shirt. Manolo squeezes, gives the gentlest of pulls to try and coax Joaquín back into town. Joaquín doesn’t move.

“Manolo, I really think—” The rest of the thought dies on his lips. Manolo takes his hand back to cross his arms over his chest, sighing, and shaking his head. The removal of that warmth feels like more of a loss than Manolo and María’s wedding did. “What?”

“Even if you manage to clear all of this away today, it will be dark by the time you leave. Just stay. A few more days, that’s all.” 

Joaquín looks again at the pile that once made up the first gate into the town. Manolo is right. Compared some of the other damage the town took, this is miniscule, but it’s enough that it would take him too many hours to move all by himself. He doubts he’d get any help from Manolo, who is watching him carefully.

“Just don’t leave like this,” Manolo presses on. “I’m used to watching you leave, but María isn’t. At least say goodbye before you go.”

That makes Joaquín wince. He takes his sombrero from his head and pulls out María’s bonnet. He turns it in his hands a few times, careful not to crumple it. If Manolo is surprised that he still has it or cares that he has it at all, he does nothing with those feelings. He’s silent while he waits for Joaquín’s response.

“I’m just afraid—” Joaquín stops short. The words taste funny in his mouth. With the medal, he’d never had to be afraid of anything. Now, faced with the disappointment of one of his closest friends, Joaquín can’t deny the fear. “I’m afraid that if I say goodbye, I won’t be able to leave.”

The warmth from Manolo’s hand makes its return to Joaquín’s arm. One corner of Manolo’s mouth twitches up in a small lopsided smile.

“Maybe that’s a sign you shouldn’t leave at all.” Manolo looks like there’s more he wants to add to that, but he never does. Joaquín places his own hand over Manolo’s, holding it in place like a lifeline.

“What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t go after the last of the bandidos?” Though he tries to keep his tone light, it doesn’t sound like he manages it to his own ears.

Still, Manolo’s smile doesn’t go away and he doesn’t try to take his hand back again.

“The kind that stays where he’s needed most,” Manolo says and Joaquín gets that twisting in his stomach again. “We need you here. There are other heroes out there who can stop the bandidos. Let San Angel keep their hero for a little while longer.”

“You sure about that? This town’s got two great heroes in you and María.” Joaquín’s hand twitches with the urge to reach up and touch his eye patch. He resists, mostly. 

“Of course I am. We’re the three amigos and we only just got back together again. You can’t break us up now.” Manolo slips his hand out from under Joaquín’s to move up and around his shoulders. It puts them at an awkward angle—Joaquín has to lean down and Manolo has to stretch up—but it’s comfortable, familiar. “We’ll all three be heroes together.”

“Break up? You make it sound like we’re in a relationship.” Joaquín is joking, of course, and punctuates the joke with a chuckle.

Manolo doesn’t laugh. There’s a twinkle in his eyes and the corners crinkle as his grin grows, but he doesn’t laugh. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Joaquín notes this. Manolo begins walking, taking Joaquín with him. Plata follows behind them with a snort, possibly annoyed with all the failed attempts at leaving, possibly because he had to wait longer than he cared to turn back this time. Most likely because that’s just what horses do.

“I love you, brother.” Joaquín says because after everything that’s happened, he realizes he doesn’t say it nearly enough.

“I love you, too.” Manolo says, bringing his other arm up to wrap around Joaquín’s chest in an awkward but welcome hug.


	2. Here With Me

The damage to the town isn’t quite as severe as it seemed when it was happening, but the sun has been unusually hot these past few days and it makes the repairs go slowly. Most of the town is gathered around the church today, helping to rebuild the fallen bell tower. Help, of course, means different things for different people. On the ground children are running around and playing and coming far too close to knocking down ladders that are currently in use. There are women making sure the people actively involved with the reconstruction are well fed and hydrated. A few pockets of people seem to be using this as a time for socializing, but only a very small few. Everyone else is hard at work.

Off to the side Joaquín sees General Posada looking up the bell tower at María who seems to be supervising the work being done at the top. He and Manolo walk closer to the general and once they’re close enough, Joaquín swears he can make out the general muttering:

“I send her to Spain to become a proper lady and this is what I get.” Under his breath. The fond smile and shake of his head are, perhaps, the biggest markers of change Joaquín has seen since defeating Chakal.

“What am I going to do with that girl?” The general asks, still smiling, when spots them. He gives no time to respond before turning and walking off in the direction of his house. Joaquín watches him leave for a moment before Manolo nudges him forward, arm still around his shoulders.

“María!” Over the sounds of construction and children yelling Manolo’s voice still somehow manages to carry up to María. She smiles down at her husband and her smile grows even wider when she spots Joaquín. “I found him!”

Her descent to them is haphazard at best. Joaquín isn’t sure he would have attempted half the stunts she’s pulling to get down when he had the Medal of Everlasting Life.

Vaguely, Joaquín wonders just what kind of nuns the convent María was sent to has. Almost none of what she studied while there strikes him as the sort of thing nuns should be teaching a young girl.

“Well there you are. Where have you been? All those muscles and you’re not even using them to help us.” María shakes her head like she’s disappointed in him, but the curve of her lips tells him otherwise. She crosses her arms over her chest, decides she doesn’t like that position, and moves her hands to her hips instead. “Really, though, where have you been? It feels like you’ve been sneaking off a lot lately.”

María’s smile fades just the slightest bit and her gaze moves from Joaquín to Plata. Guilt rolls in the pit of his stomach. He feels a little like a child being scolded. He isn’t, of course—a child or being scolded. He and María both know he’s a grown man that can leave whenever he feels, but the guilt is there all the same. He should have never tried to sneak off. He should have at least hinted at his intention to go after the bandits. He should have known that María would notice him leaving.

Manolo looks from María to Joaquín looking faintly surprised. Evidently, he’d been unaware that Joaquín had tried to sneak off before. Joaquín rubs at the back of his neck with his free arm. The guilt rolls around a little harder.

“A lot? When did you…” Manolo looks from wife to best friend once more, blinks, and then the smile that had briefly transformed into a frown returns. “Never mind. You’re here now and that’s what matters. It’s too soon for anything to separate us now.”

To illustrate his point, Manolo takes the arm not wrapped around Joaquín’s shoulders and wraps it around María’s waist, drawing her closer. María takes the opportunity to bring her arm around to pull Joaquín in so that the three of them form a tight group hug. Joaquín feels his heart jump into his throat at the proximity. From this close he can smell their sweat and feel their breath on his cheeks. The warmth from their bodies is a little too much under the heat of the sun, but Joaquín doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at home than he does right here in their arms. 

He pulls the both of them even closer. María’s head falls onto his chest while Manolo’s chin ends up on his shoulder and both of them begin giggling uncontrollably at the action. _I am so glad you are both here with me_ , Joaquín thinks, but when he opens his mouth to say the words they get stuck in his throat. So instead he presses his face into Manolo’s hair and runs his fingers through María’s. He laughs, feeling slightly unsteady on his feet with the two of them so close, but far too unwilling to let them go.

From here it’s hard to remember his reasons for ever wanting to leave this town in the first place.

María tips her head up to look at him properly. Her smile has gone soft and slightly concerned.

“Joaquín, are you okay?” She rests a hand on his cheek. 

He takes his hand from her hair to hold her hand there. He leans into the touch and María giggles again. His heart rate picks up enough that he’d be surprised if the two of them were unable to feel it beating so wildly in his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—it’s you guys. You’re both here.” The words come out shakier than Joaquín would have liked. He still isn’t completely certain he’s not dreaming them up. He still isn’t sure that he isn’t hallucinating his two best friends standing here in his arms alive and warm and happy when less than two weeks ago they’d both been dead.

They’d only been gone for a short while—less than a full day—but it was long enough that the memories are still haunting him.

“Where else would we be?” Manolo asks, the look in his eyes a challenge—a challenge to bring any of that up, to insinuate that it wasn’t absolutely obvious that their deaths would only be temporary.

Joaquín doesn’t take the challenge.

“María!” Someone calls from the bell tower.

All three of them look up. The men María had been directing before she came down here are waving her back up. María sighs and shakes her head.

“Looks like my break is over. Honestly, those guys wouldn’t be able to do anything without me.” María pulls away from Joaquín and Manolo takes that as the signal that it’s time for him to do the same. They’re both still standing only a few feet away from him, but the added distance feels more like miles. María turns to go back, but before she takes more than two steps she turns back around. “Oh, I forgot. Since you weren’t here earlier, Joaquín, you probably didn’t hear about the dinner my father is holding to celebrate the progress we’ve made. Unless you’re still in a rush to get out of here, you should come. It won’t be the same without you.”

Joaquín’s face heats up. He glances at Plata, who has moved some distance away to chew on the grass nearby. She’s still carrying all of his stuff and making it very obvious that his intention was not to still be in San Angel right about now. He looks back to María.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

She nods, satisfied, and then starts heading back up to continue her work. Manolo watches her leave until he has to start craning his neck to see her and then turns to look at Joaquín again with a small smile. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles at him like Joaquín’s presence is enough for him.

“What?” Joaquín asks, but Manolo just shakes his head.

“Nothing.” He waves his hand around as though to wave off the question and gestures to where everyone else is working. “Come on, we should get to work, too.”

****  
By the time dinner rolls around, Joaquín is not in the mood for large crowds of people. His head is pounding from all the sounds of children screaming and construction and the sun beating down on him and mostly he’d just like to go home and sleep for a couple of days. But he promised María that he’d go to dinner at her father’s house and he has no intention of breaking that promise.

They—María, Manolo, and Joaquín—end up at the biggest table with General Posada. There are a few other people from around town at the table with them, soldiers mostly, but a few of the General’s closer non-soldier friends are seated here, too. Manolo ends up sitting between Joaquín and María so that she can sit next to her husband and her father. 

From his place next to Manolo, Joaquín can see all the little touches and shows of affection that go on between the newlyweds. It makes him feel worse. There’s still that sense of lingering jealousy that Joaquín has been trying his best to get rid of. He’s happy for his friends, really. They love each other and he loves them and if being together is what makes them happy, he wants nothing more for them in the world. But that jealousy just won’t go away and it makes Joaquín sick to his stomach. He wishes he could be a better friend. 

He picks at his food more than he eats it. Both Manolo and María send him concerned glances throughout the night. 

“I’m fine,” He tells them when they ask if he’s okay. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

It’s mostly true. He is tired. His headache makes it more difficult to eat than the lingering jealousy and his physical discomfort is probably making his emotional discomfort feel far worse than it actually is. 

When people begin trickling out of the house, María reaches across Manolo to rest her hand on Joaquín’s arm.

“You should go upstairs, lay down. Manolo and I will be up soon to see how you’re doing.” María takes her hand back. It’s immediately replaced by Manolo’s hand, which gives his arm a comforting squeeze.

Manolo stands, taking Joaquín up with him. Joaquín is unsteady on his feet at first. He feels dizzy now that he’s standing and he wonders how long it’ll take him to get used to needing to take precautions before engaging in strenuous activity without the medal and only having half his vision before he stops feeling like this. Manolo presses a glass of ice water into his hands.

“Take this up with you. Do you want us to bring anything for you?” He doesn’t take his hand off of Joaquín’s arm until they’re standing in front of the stairs. 

Joaquín shakes his head. “No, I’m okay.”

“Go rest. We’ll be up soon.” Manolo says, echoing María’s earlier words.

He isn’t sure if he María’s room is exactly where they intended for him to rest, but it’s the room he ends up in. Joaquín falls into the bed as soon as he’s close enough and sprawls out completely, arms spread out to both sides and feet dangling off the bed. María’s smell hasn’t faded from the pillows or sheets in the short time she’s been living at the Sanchez house. He takes comfort in that and lets it fill his senses as his consciousness drifts away from him.

He knows that this is not a good idea. It’s wrong—absolutely and utterly wrong. María and Manolo are married. This is a liberty he isn’t allowed to take. Sleeping in her bed is too intimate, too personal even if this is where she meant for him to go. 

But he’s so tired. His entire body is too heavy for him to move. His arms, his head, even his eyelid feels too heavy to move. It doesn’t seem worth the effort to bring himself back to full awareness just to move to a guest room devoid of the life María’s room has. He stays where he is and doesn’t know how much time passes before his friends come up, but it’s long enough that he’s groggy when Manolo’s heavy footsteps and María’s barely restrained laughter bring him out of his half-sleep.

When he opens his eyes, Manolo is sitting in an arm chair in the corner of the room lazily strumming at his guitar. The notes sound vaguely familiar, but his sleep clouded mind can’t recognize the tune. The soft sound of his voice and the music threaten to lull him right back to sleep if he doesn’t make more of an effort to keep himself alert. 

Beside him, the bed dips under María’s weight. Joaquín props himself up on his elbows and gives her a sleepy smile. She returns the smile, but places her hand on his chest and pushes him back down so that his head is resting on the pillows again. His eye closes almost immediately, sleep pulling him back in.

“Go back to sleep. You deserve the rest.” She curls up at his side and instinctively he wraps his arm around her, drawing her closer. She offers no protest to the action and snuggles up against him so that her head is resting on his shoulder. She traces her finger around his medals and Manolo continues to play for them from his seat on the other side of the room.

Joaquín has half a mind to wake himself up and push María away. If sleeping in her bed alone was pushing things too far, sleeping with her pressed up against him is unthinkable. He wonders what Manolo must think looking at them like this, but only vaguely. The parts of his mind that have already succumbed to sleep are quickly dragging the rest of him with them and he can’t bring himself to move away or make sure Manolo isn’t upset with him. It only takes a few more seconds for Joaquín’s arm to go slack around María, for his breathing to even out completely.

María presses a kiss to his cheek and tilts her head to better see Manolo. She smiles at him, perfectly content to just watch him play. He returns the smile until his eyes shit to Joaquín. Manolo frowns, furrows his brow. He sets his guitar to the side.

“I didn’t know he tried to leave before today.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“The two times I saw him leave were late at night. I don’t think he realized he woke me up.” María sits up slowly so that she doesn’t wake Joaquín up. She brushes her hand against his cheek, but he doesn’t so much as stir at her touch. “Why do you think he would leave without telling us? Do you think he wants to leave because of us?”

It isn’t unthinkable. She doubts his feelings for her conveniently disappeared the moment she and Manolo got married, but it’d never crossed her mind that he might be so uncomfortable with seeing them together that he would want to leave town without a word. Haven’t they made it obvious that he has a place here with them?

Manolo sighs and sits on Joaquín’s other side. 

“I don’t think it has to do with us.” He traces his finger along the parts of Joaquín’s scar that the eye patch doesn’t cover. This time, Joaquín stirs in his sleep so Manolo takes his hand away. “I think he feels like he needs to prove he can still be a hero even without the medal.”

And without his full vision.

“That’s so stupid.” María shakes her head. She’ll have to make a point of talking to him about this when he wakes up. “Of course he’s still a hero now that he can be injured. He just has to take the time to retrain and adjust. He can’t just go out and expect everything to go as smoothly as it did before. He’ll just end up with even worse injuries.”

Manolo doesn’t answer, but he does give her a solemn nod and a sad smile. She’s right, as usual. Joaquín just has to be convinced of that. He goes back to the chair and picks up his guitar again. 

“You should get some sleep. It’s getting late.” He says.

“What about you?”

Manolo continues to pluck at his guitar strings. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

María settles back down at Joaquín’s side, head once again on his shoulder, hand at his chest. She lets the sounds of Manolo’s guitar and Joaquín’s breathing lull her to sleep.

Manolo keeps playing even after María’s breathing has evened out and he’s certain she’s asleep. He doesn’t want to take his eyes away from either of them. He thinks, maybe, he should feel some amount of jealousy at seeing them together like this. It’s his wife and best friend in bed together. He and Joaquín have a history of fighting over María. Seeing them together like this shouldn’t be something he’s happy about.

But he is. He absolutely is. The sight of them together is one of the most beautiful things Manolo thinks he’s ever seen. It hurts to think of the time wasted fighting over María. But before he hadn’t known how to bring up what he really wanted. He still doesn’t know how to talk about it with Joaquín, even if María now knows and shares his desire.

Joaquín pats around on what little empty space there is on the unoccupied side of the bed. Manolo stops playing, watching to see if Joaquín has woken up, but his actions seem to come from dreams trying to make themselves a reality. Manolo sets his guitar to the side, removes his jacket and tie, and gently moves Joaquín’s hand so that he can climb into bed next to him. He mimics María’s position, taking her hand in his own. Joaquín is warm enough that Manolo doesn’t need to be under the covers.

“Don’t leave us, Joaquín. We love you too much to watch you go.” Manolo keeps his voice as soft as he can to avoid waking either of them up. “But if you have to go, at least take us with you.”


	3. Something I Have To Do

Joaquín wakes up feeling like he spent the night lifting weights. His arms are still spread out on either side of him and when he tries to bend them to prop himself up on his elbows they crack and pop and he nearly lets himself fall back into the pillows. But the sun is shining bright through the window and Joaquín has never been one for sleeping in. It leaves him feeling groggy and disoriented—two things a soldier should never be.

He’s alone on the bed now, but he remembers very clearly the feeling of María curling up beside him last night, even if he’d been half asleep at the time. He looks to the chair that Manolo had been sitting in when he fell asleep, but in his place Chuy is snoring loudly. He rolls his shoulders back, stretches his arms above his head to wake himself up a little more. He’s feeling much better than last night and it’s time to get the day started. Joaquín swings his legs over the side of the bed, but instead of his feet landing on the floor they land on a person.

When he looks down to see who it is he’s stepping on, Manolo is on his stomach, reaching back around to try and slap Joaquín’s feet off. He misses four times before he gives up. Joaquín lifts his feet back onto the bed. Manolo turns around so that he’s on his back and shoots Joaquín a sleepy glare. 

“Why were you stepping on me?” Manolo’s voice is rough with exhaustion. He almost looks like he’s about to go right back to sleep.

“Why are you on the floor?” Joaquín counters. Manolo looks around him, realization dawning on his face. Apparently he’d been tired enough that it hadn’t occurred to him that the only way he could be stepped on is if he’s on the floor.

Joaquín offers him a hand up. Manolo takes it and sits on the bed next to him.

“You must have pushed me off the bed.” Manolo shakes his head in mock disappointment, his grin is all amusement. 

“Pushed you off? You weren’t even on the bed. How could I push you off of it?”

“Of course I was. You didn’t think María and I were going to let you take the bed all for yourself, did you?"

"So then that's why I'm so sore. You were taking up too much room. That must be why I pushed you off. I was sleeping so peacefully and then you just had to go and take up all the room." Joaquín grins and nudges Manolo's shoulder.

Manolo nudges him back and moves to stand up. He stops half way, knees still bent and now it’s something like realization washing over his face. Manolo turns to face him again with a strange look on his face that makes Joaquín’s heart beat faster with anticipation. Manolo doesn’t say anything. He just keeps his eyes trained on Joaquín’s face with that odd expression until finally Joaquín is forced to turn away.

And in turning away, Joaquín puts Manolo in his blind spot what must be the reason for his staring in his line of vision. There on one of the pillows is Joaquín’s eye patch. His breath catches in his throat, the tips of his ears heat up. He can’t bring himself to face Manolo again. He can’t bring himself to move at all. It must have fallen off in his sleep. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Joaquín.” There’s a pleading note to Manolo’s voice, but Joaquín doesn’t turn around. “Please.”

Manolo sits back on the bed, close enough that their knees are touching, but still Joaquín won’t turn. He grabs for the eye patch, but Manolo beats him to it. 

“Manolo, don’t. Just let me have it.” Now Joaquín is the one pleading.

Manolo doesn’t give it back.

“Are you guys still asleep in here? I swear—” María cuts herself off when she catches sight of the scene in the bedroom.

Out of instinct Joaquín turns to face her and remembers to cover his eye just a second too late. Her eyes go wide; she sucks in a breath out of shock. It’s the first time Joaquín has ever had his eye patch off around them—around anyone. It wasn’t an occasion he’d been looking forward to.

María moves to stand next to Manolo, who twists the eye patch in his hands. Joaquín stands and faces them. All three of them stand in silence, unsure of what to say or even how to say it. They stay like that for what feels like hours. It feels like something very fragile has been cracked any other movements or words will shatter it completely.

The one to break the stillness is María. She moves forward, cupping Joaquín’s cheek in her hand and brushing her thumb over the scar. The eye itself is cloudy and red—the redness possibly from overuse of the eye patch. 

“You don’t have to hide this. Not from us.” 

“We love you.” Manolo chimes in.

“More than you know.” María continues for him. She gives Joaquín a small, comforting smile.

Joaquín takes María’s hand in his own, pressing it to his cheek for just a moment before stepping back and breaking all contact. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

We love you more than you know. They’re words he’s dreamed of hearing for over a decade and now that he’s hearing them he can’t even bring himself to focus on them, on their meaning.

“I love you guys, too, so much. I would do anything for you two. But please don’t ask me to do this.” He opens his eyes again slowly, not wanting to see the disappointment on their faces, but needing to look at them while he speaks. “I would give up so much more than my vision in one eye just to keep both of you alive and happy, but letting anyone see this isn’t something I’m comfortable with. Not even you. Maybe one day. Just—for now let me wear it.”

The silence falls back over them until Joaquín has put his eye patch back on. He smiles at both of them—a crooked, uncertain thing—and tries to blow the past few minutes over with a soft laugh. 

María and Manolo follow his lead, putting their own smiles on their faces, letting the tension fade away. María moves herself so that she’s standing between Joaquín and Manolo and wraps her arms around both of their waists. Joaquín and Manolo reciprocate the action and when Manolo’s hand lands on his back, Joaquín swears he feel Manolo brushing his fingers softly up the ridges of his spine before he finally settles his hand at Joaquín’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go get breakfast.” María pulls them in the direction of the door, but Joaquín miscalculates how far he is from the wall before it enters his blind spot and ends up slamming right into it.

He drops his arm from around his friends and holds his head in his palm until the pain dies down a little. It’s far from the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, but the hit disoriented him and he’s having a little trouble focusing. María and Manolo gently guide him back over to the bed to sit until he can get himself together again.

“Are you okay?” Manolo puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine. Barely even felt it.” He feels more embarrassment at doing that in front of them than he feels pain.

When he looks up, María and Manolo are exchanging concerned glances. It’s a small, understandable thing—they’re just worried about him. But something about their worry sparks something angry in the pit of Joaquín’s stomach. He swallows it down before he says something he’ll regret and stands back up.

“Well, I’m starving. Let’s stop standing around here and get some food, shall we?” Joaquín doesn’t give time for a response. This time when he walks out the door, he doesn’t end up walking into the wall. María and Manolo follow close behind with Chuy trailing after them. 

The angry thing he’d managed to swallow down before comes back only minutes into the meal. Joaquín is pouring himself a drink and even though he’s paying perfect attention he can’t tell when the glass is filled to the brim until it starts spilling over and Manolo gently takes the pitcher out of his hands. This hadn’t been a problem last night. Last night there had been servants to pour drinks for everyone. His face heats up and he tries not to notice the concerned glances María and Manolo are once again sharing. 

He’s thankful when María takes the attention off of him with a story about her time in Europe, but Joaquín can hardly focus on it. The transition from invincible to half-blind has not been an easy one.

They go back to the Sanchez house when they finish eating. They pass some time listening to Manolo play a few new songs he’s been working on. Joaquín and María dance to them until María decides to show off how well she learned to play the violin during her time in Spain and then Manolo takes her place as his partner. They should all probably be helping with the town’s reconstruction, but it’s been too long since they’ve all just had fun together like this.

It’s midday when they stop. Manolo makes them lunch and when they sit down at the table they end up close enough that their knees all knock together. Joaquín tries to pull away a few times, but somehow they always end up pulling him back when he does. It feels inappropriate to be this close to both of them. The gleam in Manolo’s eyes puts butterflies in his stomach and María’s knowing smile has them fluttering their wings far too quickly.

“When the gates are rebuilt, I’m going to go after the rest of Chakal’s army.” Joaquín says it easily, not really thinking about what he’s saying before he says it. He realizes a second too late that telling them so casually like this might not be the best idea he’s ever had.

“What?” María and Manolo are echoes of each other. They look up quickly from their food, looking for all the world like Joaquín had just told them he no longer wants to be their friend.

Joaquín sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

“It’s just something that needs to get done. Chakal might be gone, but the remainder of his army is still dangerous. I can’t let them run free any longer.” He speaks slowly now, cautious. “I won’t be gone for a long time, I promise. Just a few weeks.”

“Why do you have to be the one to do it? You helped defeat Chakal. You deserve a break from running around going after bandits.” María crosses her arms over her chest. The look on her face clearly says that she won’t accept any argument to the contrary, but Joaquín can’t just leave it at that.

“Let’s be honest, you and Manolo did most of the work against Chakal. This is the least I can do.” Joaquín shrugs, tapping his fingers on the table in a slightly disjointed rhythm. 

“What are you talking about?” Manolo pushes himself away from the table, but doesn’t stand. “We would have never defeated him without you, Joaquín. You lost an eye. You did so much for us, for this town. You’re the hero of San Angel.”

“Losing an eye is nothing compared to what the two of you have been through. Both of you died. This doesn’t even come close.” Joaquín brushes his fingers across his eye patch. He’s still not quite used to feeling it there.

“We’re both here now, aren’t we?” Manolo shifts his gaze just slightly so that he’s pointedly focusing on the eye patch.

“Still—”

“Still nothing.” María stands up in an attempt to tower over him, but even sitting Joaquín is too tall for that. Still, the look on her face is no less intimidating at eye level than it would be if he had to look up to see it. “Other towns have other heroes. You’re not going.”

“That isn’t for you to decide. No one has as much experience with this as I do. I’m the best choice for the job.”

“You can’t even pour a drink with your eye like that. Experience or not, there’s no way you’ll be able to defeat even a fraction of the bandits left right now.” María’s glare is one of the worst things a person could possibly be faced with, but Joaquín matches it as best he can.

“Don’t talk like you know everything I’m capable of, María. This eye wasn’t the source of all my skill. I still know how to fight; I still know how to dodge. You haven’t even been back for two weeks yet so don’t talk like you’re an expert on what I can and can’t do.” Joaquín keeps his voice stern, stands, but María doesn’t back down.

“And what if you misjudge the distance between you and one of the bandit’s swords? You won’t recover from that the way you did with the wall upstairs.”

“All three of us were trying to walk through the door at once! That isn’t the same.” Joaquín runs both of his hands through his hair, frustration escalating quickly.

“But what if it does happen, Joaquín. We just don’t want you to get hurt. Just stay. Train for a little while to get used to fighting with one eye.” Manolo’s voice is still soft and he stands along with them. He hasn’t reached the levels of frustration Joaquín and María have although there is an edge to his voice. “Or at least let us come with you.”

“No. No way. I already lost you two once, I am not risking losing you again.” Joaquín walks away from the table to show that he’s done with this conversation, but María and Manolo follow him. They aren’t giving up.

“Oh, so it’s better that we let you go alone and risk losing you?” María takes a step closer to him until Manolo stops her.

“María…” Manolo shakes his head, a signal that escalating things anymore might not be the best course of action. María takes a deep breath and lets her expression soften.

"Joaquín, please, just think about how you felt when you thought you lost Manolo and I. Don't make us go through that same thing for you." She rests a hand on Joaquín’s arm, hoping that he contact will help him see reason.

It doesn’t. For the first time in any of their memories, Joaquín pushes her hand off of him. He’s not going to just let her guilt trip him with that and then act like she’s doing nothing wrong.

"María, stop. Do not act like this is the same thing."

"What makes it so different?" She crosses her arms over her chest, all softness gone from her face.

“I’m not planning on making any stupid deals with gods!” Joaquín looks pointedly at Manolo now, who stumbles back like he’s been struck.

Manolo recovers quickly, wide eyes narrowing into a glare. He takes a step closer and lets his arms fall to his sides, hands clenched into fists. Joaquín knows they’re walking into dangerous territory now. He doesn’t know how much of what happened María and Manolo have discussed alone, but he knows that he hasn’t discussed any of it with them. Bringing it up now could hardly mean anything good for them, but they’re all too stubborn to back off. Joaquín returns Manolo’s glare.

“If you hadn’t made a deal with Xibalba for the Medal of Everlasting Life in the first place, maybe none of this would have happened.” Manolo doesn’t yell, but his rage is still clear on his face and in his voice.

“Oh, please. I was a little kid then and Xibalba and La Muerte would have made that bet whether I took the medal or not which means he still would have done anything to get you out of the way! It’s not my fault you were careless enough to take the bait.” 

María steps between the two of them, although they aren’t quite close enough to come to blows. Still, she holds her arms out cautiously to keep them at a safe distance. This is not where she had intended to lead this.

“I thought one of the people I love most in the world had just died and the other told me that I should have been the one to die instead! Forgive me if I wasn’t in the proper mindset to handle the choice that had been presented to me!” Manolo does yell now, punctuating his words by pointing his finger roughly in Joaquín’s direction while María continues to keep them at a safe distance.

But when the last word leaves his lips, Manolo’s face loses the anger that had been burning so intensely underneath his skin. His mouth falls open; his finger is frozen in the air. His eyes are wide and fearful. The words finally process in his mind too late to keep them from coming out and his stomach churns at the thought of what’s to come. He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t. It just—it came out, but he hadn’t meant to say it. He was upset, just like Joaquín had been that day. But it doesn’t matter now why Manolo said it. All that matters is that he did.

María steps back so that she’s no longer in the middle of them. Her arms fall to her sides, feeling very much like they’ve become weights she no longer has the strength to lift. She’d known already about what Joaquín had said. He’d broken down in front of her before the wedding and had told her everything. She was upset—angry—but María had only ever seen him cry so hard at his father’s funeral and couldn’t hold Joaquín’s words against him. She knows Manolo wouldn’t have wanted her to. But now that Manolo has used those words against him, she knows that any chance they had of making Joaquín stay is gone. There’s no way he’ll believe that things will be better if he stays with them. He’ll sooner go off and risk getting killed by bandits before he stays and allows himself be crushed by the guilt of the words he said while he was grieving. Part of María resents Manolo for saying what he did, another resents Joaquín for wanting to leave and giving Manolo any reason to say it, and the last part resents herself for using their last resort to try to convince Joaquín to stay.

Joaquín’s face drains of all color. He looks at Manolo, but Joaquín doesn’t see him as he is now. When Joaquín looks at Manolo now, he sees the cold and lifeless body he’d been faced with a little over a week ago. He sees the smile that he once loved, but at that point couldn’t bear to look at. He hears the words he said and feels all the desire in the world that he could have taken Manolo’s place. But he couldn’t give his life for Manolo’s then and he couldn’t even succeed in doing it during the battle with Chakal. Joaquín steps back. He looks at the two people he loves most in the world, but neither of them will meet his eye and suddenly, though he’d never really forgotten, he remembers his reasons for wanting to leave San Angel in the first place.

He was the hero of the town, but couldn’t protect Manolo or María when it mattered most. Not even with the Medal of Everlasting Life. They don’t need him, but there are people who did and who still might, if only for a little while. He might not have the medal or use of his eye anymore, but he needs to prove to himself that he deserves the title he’d worked his entire life to earn. His father’s shadow may not hang over him, but if he can’t save anyone then what’s the point? He has to prove he can still be a hero and it’s already been proven that he can’t do that here. In fact, María and Manolo would probably be better off without him.

The sun shines through the little kitchen window and warms the room to an almost uncomfortable degree, but all three of them can only feel a deep, penetrating cold in the pits of their stomachs.

Joaquín turns on his heel, walking quickly out of the room, and heading towards the door. He walks in the direction of the front door and can’t bring himself to look back even when he hears Manolo jogging to catch up to him. He still has some things in the room he’s been staying in, but he won’t go back for them now. He just has to get out of here. 

Manolo catches him and grabs his arm tight to keep Joaquín from getting any farther. Joaquín turns just enough to see Manolo in the corner of his good eye, but says nothing.

“Joaquín, please—I didn’t—Stay. Please. We need you.” _I love you_ , Manolo doesn’t say, because he doubts Joaquín will believe anything he says and he can’t stand the thought of him not believing that.

But Joaquín only shakes his head and pulls his arm out of Manolo’s grip. The look on his face freezes Manolo in place and all he can do is watch as Joaquín leaves.

When he walks back into the kitchen, María says:

“That would have only gone worse if you’d stabbed him.”

Manolo sighs and falls into the nearest chair to him.

“Actually I think that would have been an improvement.”

Joaquín’s house feels cold and lonely when he gets home. After spending so long with his friends, he feels their absence weighing him down, but he knows he can’t go back there. He falls onto the couch, sprawling out as much as he can. The slam of his boots against the floor when he toes them off and lets them drop echoes throughout the house and, not for the first time since his mother left, he thinks that this house is far too big for one person.

After María’s father started training him, he’d spent a great deal of time there or in the barracks with the other soldiers. It wasn’t he most glamourous of living conditions, but it wasn’t so lonely and that had been enough. He can’t go there now. There would be no way to keep Manolo or María away in the general’s house. At least he’s on his own property here. It’s safer if they try to come after him.

He isn’t sure how much time he loses lying there on the couch. He knows that at some point, the sun went down and that it must have been hours, but his thoughts from those hours are a blur. Joaquín manages to drag himself up and to his bed. There’s a picture of the three of them as kids when they were little. Joaquín adjusts himself so that he can see it as he falls asleep and tries to dream about times when things weren’t so awful.

Joaquín doesn’t see them for another three days. By that point the main gates have been rebuilt and he makes the decision that if he’s going to leave, he’s going to have to do it now. He’s wasted enough time. General Posada helps him make his arrangements for leaving on the fourth day. The sun has nearly begun to set by the time everything is in place and he finds himself standing in front of the Sanchez house.

From outside, things are strangely peaceful. He’s used to things being much more lively than this.

The door is unlocked when he turns the knob. Things are no less quiet inside, but then again only María should be home. He couldn’t seem to get a good answer about Manolo’s whereabouts, but this, at least, someone was able to tell him.

Joaquín’s hand hovers over the bedroom door. After the way they left things, he isn’t sure how to go about speaking to María again. He isn’t sure how to make his goodbyes the first thing he says to her since their fight. He sighs and let’s his hand fall to his side, but he doesn’t walk away. He doesn’t want to leave without saying something to her. He doubts she wants to hear what he has to say. And why would she? As against Joaquín leaving as she is and after the way things were left between them, why would she ever want his departure to be made more real by saying goodbye?

He lifts his hand again and before he can back out, knocks on her door. 

“María, it’s me. I’m leaving. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.” Joaquín waits and waits, but María never responds. He isn’t surprised about the lack of response or the fact that it still hurts. “So bye, I guess.”

On the other side of the door he can hear Chuy walking around and what sounds like needlessly forceful page turning. It reassures him that he’s not talking to an empty room. It doesn’t make him feel any better. He looks down the hall to see the sun beginning to set. Lips curling into a frown, Joaquín looks back at the door. He’ll have to leave now if he wants to make any progress before the light’s gone.

“Come on, María. Are you seriously not even going to say goodbye before I leave? I know we fought, but don’t you think this is a little childish?” He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs.

“Bye. Are you happy now?” María’s voice is muffled through the door, but the sharpness of her words is not dulled. 

“Fine. If this is how you want to be, I’ll go. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Joaquín turns sharply away, making a point of stomping his feet as he walks away. It’s hypocritical. He just accused her of being childish for ignoring him and now he’s stomping his feet exactly like a child. It takes all of his willpower not to look back to see if she’s coming out of her room. He doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of his looking back. But when he reaches the front door and he still hasn’t heard María open the door, he can’t help but feel more than a little disappointed.

“Seriously leaving now, María!” Joaquín’s hand is on the doorknob. The cool metal of it warms under his touch while he waits for a response. “Are you really going to make me leave without a proper goodbye?”

The responding silence is all the answer he needs.

The fading sunlight blinds him as soon as he walks out, prompting him to turn his head away. He chances a glance up towards María’s balcony and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees her standing there staring down at him. She looks sad and disappointed and if Joaquín thought that he was using all of his willpower before to not look back, he’s dipping into his very soul for the strength not to run up there to try to take that sadness away.

“This is just something I have to do, María. I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that.” María shakes her head and walks away. 

General Posada and the soldiers are waiting for him at the city gates by the time he gets there. They’ve already gotten Plata ready for him, eager to have their hero go off and prove himself once again. Behind them, leaning against the gates themselves, is Manolo. He doesn’t seem to notice when Joaquín. He’s staring off to the side, his gaze slightly unfocused while his mind wanders off to places that aren’t here. He absently traces one of the chaquetillas on his suit with one finger, his other arm crossed over his chest. One corner of Joaquín’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. He could probably watch Manolo for the rest of his life and never get bored.

The general clears his throat to bring his attention away from Manolo and Joaquín feels his face heat up at getting caught staring at his friend. Posada slaps him on the back and gives him a wide smile.

“It’s good you’re heading back out already, Joaquín. This world could use more soldiers as resilient as you.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” He looks over to Manolo again. Now, Manolo is looking at him. He has a small, nervous smile on his face and Joaquín feels absurdly relieved to see it. 

The soldiers and general don’t leave as soon as all the goodbyes are said. Joaquín has to force them to be on their way so that he and Manolo can talk. Once they’re gone, Joaquín walks slowly over to Manolo. They just stand in front of each other, each taking in the sight of the other for a moment without saying anything.

And when that moment ends, Joaquín wraps Manolo in the tightest hug he’s ever given. Manolo returns the hug with as much enthusiasm and buries his nose in the crook of Joaquín’s neck. Joaquín doesn’t bother to try hiding his shaky breath and Manolo just holds him tighter at the sound and feel of it.

“I am so sorry, Joaquín. I hope you know that I never wanted to hurt you.” Manolo’s voice is muffled, but Joaquín hears him loud and clear.

“Manny, you have nothing to apologize for. Everything you said was true and I cannot begin to tell you how much I hate myself for what I said to you before. What I said about giving up more than my vision for you two wasn’t a lie. I would die for you if it meant keeping you safe.”

“But we don’t want that. We want you safe here, with us. Please stay.” Manolo lifts his head from Joaquín’s neck, but doesn’t release his hold. Looking at him from this angle is awkward, but Joaquín can’t bring himself to let go just yet, either.

“I can’t. This is just something I have to do for myself, if nothing else.” Joaquín shakes his head to emphasize his no. 

The warmth of Manolo’s breath on his neck is a comfort. He tries not to think about how much he’ll miss it when he’s gone and silently swears that he will come back alive no matter what. He won’t let his last time hearing Manolo’s singing or seeing María’s smile be the day they got into such an awful fight.

“Why is this something you have to do? What will this prove?” Manolo pulls away then and Joaquín feels the loss exponentially.

“I just want to prove that I’m more than what the medal made me to be.” Joaquín takes Manolo’s hands in his to keep him from getting too far away. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to be gone, doesn’t want to be gone for long, but however long it will be it will be time away from his friends he wants all the contact he can get until then. If only he could have gotten María to come out, too.

“But you already have proven that. Is this really worth risking your life over?” Manolo and Joaquín both turn their heads to see María walking towards them. 

She still looks upset, but when Joaquín holds his arm out to pull her into a hug she goes right along with it. Manolo takes that as a signal to move back into Joaquín’s arms, too, and Joaquín accepts him eagerly. He holds both of his friends close, pressing his face into María’s hair. He takes a deep breath and when he does, the smell of her wraps around his senses completely and relaxes him more than he’s relaxed these past four days.

“This is just something I have to do.” He says, echoing what he’d told her earlier. “Please accept that.”

“Then why won’t you let us come with you?” María presses. Manolo lifts his head from where he’d had it resting on Joaquín’s chest and looks at him expectantly.

“I really don’t want to risk losing you two again. And I just feel like it will mean more if I do this on my own.” Joaquín taps his fingers along the bumps of Manolo’s spine and twirls the fingers of his other hand in María’s hair. “Please.”

He can’t be sure why he adds that last plea in. Is it because he’s pleading for them to understand? Or is it because he knows his resolve to separate himself slips away more and more as this continues.

“Okay,” María says into his shirt. “Just promise us one thing?”

“Anything.” Joaquín does hesitate. There’s nothing they could make him promise that he wouldn’t be completely willing to do for them.

“When you’re done, come back to us.” Both of them pull back just enough to look Joaquín in the eye.

“Of course I will. Where else would I go?” The request confuses him. This town is his home. He might not spend a lot of time here, but he can’t imagine returning anywhere else. Nowhere else has these two.

“Not just to San Angel.” Manolo elaborates. “To our house. Live with us. Don’t go back to living alone in that big house of yours.”

“You guys, I can’t do that. You’re married. It wouldn’t be right.” Joaquín tries to pull away as an act of protest, but now both of them hold him close and keep him from getting away.

“We love you, Joaquín.” María says, like that explains everything.

“As more than a friend. We’re a trio in everything we do, including love. We want you to always be with us.” Manolo continues.

Joaquín could cry. Tears burn behind his eye. The lump in his throat threatens to choke him. María wipes away the tears that he can’t hold back and kisses him on the corner of the mouth and Joaquín is pretty sure that the happiness he’s feeling right now is a stronger happiness than anything anyone has ever felt before. Manolo mimics María and kisses the opposite corner of his mouth, but takes it a step further and kisses him again. Properly, this time, and full on the mouth. Not just a corner. María, apparently takes this as a challenge and does the same.

A laugh bubbles up in Joaquín’s chest and he doesn’t bother trying to hold it back. 

“Okay, I promise. I promise I will live with you when I come back.” And to punctuate this Joaquín kisses both of them again on the mouth and all over their faces. 

Manolo and María reciprocate and Joaquín determines that he was wrong. This is the happiest he’s ever been.

But eventually both of them pull themselves out of his arms—reluctantly, but they do it. That same sense of loss he’d felt when Manolo pulled away earlier comes back, but it isn’t so strong now. It’s buried under an overwhelming warmth that has made itself at home in the pit of Joaquín’s stomach and that he doesn’t ever want to lose. They each keep one of his hands in theirs so that not all contact is lost.

“It’s getting late. You should probably get going, huh?” Manolo squeezes his hand. He smiles so that the corners of his eyes crinkle and the shine in his eyes becomes even more apparent. 

“Go give those bandits what they deserve.” María’s eyes gleam and her smile has a hint of mischief in it. She brings Joaquín’s hand up to her lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles.

Both of them continue to hold his hand as they walk him towards Plata whose whinny almost sounds like the word ‘finally.’ Joaquín gets settled in the saddle, but before he goes anywhere he looks back down at María and Manolo.

“I love both of you with all my heart.”

“We love you, too.” Manolo answers.

They watch Joaquín ride off until it’s impossible to see him anymore and even the sound of Plata’s hooves have faded into the night. There’s a heaviness in their hearts as they walk back home just the two of them. But as they slip into bed and finally fall asleep, they whisper tiny reassurances to each other and fall into their dreams certain that everything will be as it should be soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on my writing blog, [polyships](http://polyships.tumblr.com/).


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